


A Name That Feels Like Mine

by umisabaku



Series: Designation: Miracle [6]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umisabaku/pseuds/umisabaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I feel the need to point out that this is a military base, not a middle school. They can’t stay here.”</p><p>--</p><p>The JSDF soldiers try to figure out what to do with their newly acquired superpowered children. Prequel to "Don't Blink You'll Miss It (Lift Up Your Head)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Name That Feels Like Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to "Don't Blink You'll Miss It (Lift Up Your Head)" set during the time the Miracles came to the JSDF base. While it does chronologically take place before that story, "Don't Blink" should probably be read first.
> 
> Fair warnings, all I know about the JSDF came from watching Gate (the anime) and I apologize ahead of time for the gross inaccuracies about military personnel. To be honest, I think I was loosely basing the structure off of Stargate:Atlantis (TVshow) which, hahaha, is a terrible idea on so many levels =P
> 
> I got the translations for their names mostly from  
> [here](http://redhoods.co.vu/post/137576523812/generation-of-miracles-name-meaning-insp)
> 
>  
> 
> The title is taken, but not a direct quote, from "Promiseland" by Mika

“I feel the need to point out that this is a military base, not a middle school,” Colonel Kobayashi Kyouma explains sharply. “They can’t stay here.”

Kasamatsu Youji hates reporting to his superiors. It always makes him feel like he’s still in school. But he’s perfected the art of standing at attention and staring at air, neutrally, so he says, “With all due respect, sir, we can’t afford to let them go anywhere else, sir.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“They have superpowers, sir. If we let anyone else take them in, we risk potentially losing control over them entirely. The U.N. might even get involved, and we’ll lose potential assets. Sir.”

“You know, Kasamatsu, your reports border on insolence sometimes.”

“Yes sir, I’ve been told that, sir.”

The Colonel sighs. “Don’t get used to their presence. We’re in a tricky situation and we need to handle it carefully.”

“Yes, sir!”

*

Youji’s squad had responded to the initial attack; they’d been the first to meet the children—there’s now a photo of Youji kneeling in front of the children plastered on the cover of every magazine. And it had been Youji’s squad—his and Sergeant Sakurai’s—who had returned to Teiko that night.

Every soldier who had been there was sickened to the core by humanity. Youji has seen a lot of awful things as a soldier, but nothing will ever compare to that night.

So he feels protective over the children who ran, who survived. They’re near in age to Youji’s own children and he suspects they’ve suffered a lot in their lifetime. He doesn’t want them to suffer anymore.

But he’s not sure he’ll be able to persuade his superiors to do the right thing.

*

He sneaks out to the rooftop for a cigarette (a habit he’s been trying to break for years) and to clear his head. He’s surprised to find someone already there; one of the contracted doctors is sobbing into his hands.

They see each other, so there’s really no way Youji can gracefully back out of this and pretend he didn’t see anything. The other man sniffs loudly, trying to stop his cries. Youji feels bad for the intrusion; he knows how embarrassing it must be to be caught crying, especially by a military man.

He hands a handkerchief to the doctor and looks to the sky as the man takes it to blow his nose. “Kishitani-sensei…wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kishitani says, honking loudly into the handkerchief. “Sergeant Kasamatsu, right? You found them. I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”

“No, it’s OK, I—” cried too, he can’t _quite_ bring himself to say, even though it would only be fair. “You were giving the kids a physical checkup, yeah?”

Kishitani nods. He hands a stack of folders to Kasamatsu wordlessly as he still tries to compose himself.

Youji takes the folders and flips through them silently. He’s already braced himself for the worst so the accompanied pictures don’t shock him, really, but it comes as a blow all the same. No wonder the doctor was up here crying.

“They’ve all been _shot_ at least once,” Kishitani says. “Some of them have clearly gone through extensive physical abuse—I’d even go so far as to say they’ve been tortured. And the worst part is—they don’t understand anything _wrong_. They all seemed genuinely baffled by our responses—it’s like they all think it was just normal to experience what they did.”

“It probably was. For them,” Youji says, his voice distant. He stops and stares at the pictures of Yellow. He’s relatively unscathed, compared to the rest. But there’s that brand—that brand they all have, and it somehow looks more tragic than the rest of the scars. “And they’re otherwise healthy?”

“Their body chemistry is literally unlike anything I’ve ever seen before,” Kishitani explains. “In all honesty, I’m not sure I can properly gauge what their health is—simply put, they’re not human. Their DNA structures are all too advanced—I still can’t believe they exist. It’s a miracle.”

Youji closes the folders since it’s not like he can understand the technical language anyway. “Is it really that impressive?”

“They could have cured cancer,” Kishitani blurts out, anger bursting forth, “Those scientists that created them—they could have put their minds to save humanity. I can’t believe _this_ is what they did instead.”

Youji opens his mouth to defend the children’s existence but then he remembers overhearing that Kishitani’s wife had died from cancer, a few years ago. Instead, he just says, “I can’t believe a lot of things they did.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Kishitani says vehemently.

*

“Youji! There you are!”

Youji winces. _Great, just what I needed._ He turns to greet the approaching man. “Hello, Masa-chan. What are you doing here?”

“Are you kidding me? You discovered superpowered children, how could I stay away? I can’t believe you didn’t call me!”

“Contrary to popular belief, Masa-chan, it’s not my job to inform you about confidential SDF matters,” Youji says dryly.

“Not your job, no, but you’d think you’d be a little more forthcoming with one of your oldest friends,” Akashi Masaomi says, faking hurt. “I had to find out through news reports like an ordinary person.”

Youji stifles a sigh. In ordinary circumstances, two very different people like Kasamatsu Youji and Akashi Masaomi should have never met. But somehow they ended up as college roommates and somehow Youji had never managed to get rid of him as a friend.

Masaomi was a genius, and a billionaire, and tended to think rules did not apply to him. He donated a lot of money to the SDF and served as a defense contractor, Akashi Industries being one of the prominent weapon designers in the world. Which largely meant Masaomi could wander the base whenever he felt like it with very little fear of the consequences.

“So? Where are they? I want to meet them.”

“Absolutely not,” Youji denies right away. If he can manage it, he’s not letting Masaomi anywhere near those kids. That would be a terrible combination.

And even though he feels bad for suspecting his friend, he knows Masaomi well enough that he has to ask, “Just to be clear, you _didn’t_ know about Teiko, right?”

“Youji,” Masaomi chides, “You should know me better than that. If I’d known about a facility designing superhumans existed, the first thing I’d do would be to give _myself_ superpowers.”

And that’s definitely the most compelling reason for Masaomi’s lack of involvement. “Just checking.”

“What other powers do they have? Have you found out yet? The shapeshifting thing is cool, I’ll grant you, but I’m not all that interested in superstrength or telekinesis, it’s very unimaginative.”

“How do you know about that?” Youji yelps. Their powers hadn’t been released to the public yet.

“Please,” Masaomi waves this aside.

“Stop hacking SDF computers, Masa-chan.”

“Keep me informed and I wouldn’t have to hack SDF computers, Youji!”

“Go home, Masaomi. You’re not allowed near those kids.”

Masaomi grumbles and Youji manages to duck down the halls, ditching him. It’s only a temporary measure; Masaomi has frightening tenacity when it comes to pursuing what he wants.

*

He wants to check in with the children before heading home. They’re not difficult to find; a group of off-duty soldiers are cheering loudly and Youji just followed the sounds.

“Oh my God, this is amazing!” Private Kitagiri Haruto says. “You look just like the real thing!”

Youji approaches the younger man’s side and sees a teenage girl he vaguely recognizes as a popular idol waving at everyone.

The girl giggles, “Of course I am, silly!”

“Can you do the pose?” Kitagiri asks eagerly, as others cheer on.

The girl cocks her hip and tilts her head and winks, cupping her hands in the shape of a heart, “Misa-chan loves you!”

“This is the best thing ever! Imagine the possibilities!” Kitagiri cheers.

“ _She_ is still a thirteen year old boy,” Youji says mildly, just barely keeping the growl out of his voice.

Kitagiri jumps. “Sorry boss, didn’t see you there.”

“Kasamatsu-san!” the idol glows yellow and is replaced by a young boy. Yellow bounds over to Youji with enthusiasm.

“Hello Yellow,” Youji says fondly. “Where are the others?”

“Sleeping,” Yellow says with a shrug. “They’re boring. Want to see me transform into anyone?”

“Maybe later. Wanna grab a late dessert?”

“Sure,” Yellow says nonchalantly.

*

“Whoa. Wow, this is amazing! What is this?”

“Ice cream,” Youji replies.

Yellow shoves a larger spoonful in his mouth at a fast pace, confirming Youji’s suspicions that he hadn’t known what “dessert” was.

“Careful, if you eat it too fast your brain will freeze.”

“What? What does that even—ooh, that’s weird,” Yellow puts his spoon down to hold his head.

They’re sitting in the mess hall, each with an ice cream sundae. The other soldiers keep their distance, respecting Youji’s privacy.

“Hey Kasamatsu-san,” Yellow starts, “Can I have a gun?”

The question comes out of no where, but it doesn’t really surprise him as much as it probably should. Instead of instantly refusing he just strokes his chin meditatively and asks, “Why do you want one?”

“All the soldiers have one,” Yellow points out.

“The civilian doctors don’t,” Youji replies.

“But I’m not a civilian, not really. And besides, my power isn’t offensive _or_ defensive. There’s nothing I could do if I was attacked.”

The logic makes Youji sad (he also files away the implication that the other children _did_ have the ability to defend themselves; the others hadn’t been particularly forthcoming with what they could do) and he says as gently as he can, “You won’t need to defend yourself here.”

Yellow pouts (it’s a very practiced look), “But I’d feel safer if I had a gun.”

“Unfortunately, the JSDF has very strict policies about giving minors weapons, so I can’t help you.”

“You could give me _your_ gun,” Yellow wheedles.

“This gun? This is Lucille, she’s been with me forever, I can’t just give her away.”

“You named your gun?” Yellow says incredulously, which Youji counts as a successful move against the “give me a gun” topic.

“Of course I did, I name everything. My knife’s name is Marinette.”

Yellow wrinkles his nose, looking scornful. “That’s stupid.”

“Everything needs a name,” Youji says.

“ _I_ don’t,” Yellow replies.

Youji stiffens. “But you have a name, Yellow.”

“ _That’s_ not my name. That’s just how we differentiated between each other in our Generation. Not everyone could remember all our designations when we were younger. The adults called me 626. You can too, if you want.”

Youji swallows hard, losing his appetite entirely. He’d seen the photos earlier today; he knew GM-Y626 was branded on the inside of Yellow’s thigh. “You _should_ have a name,” he says fiercely. He clenches his fists under the table, outraged all over again with the atrocities committed in Teiko.

Yellow just shrugs. “Names are a stupid human thing. I don’t need one.”

For the most part, Yellow maintains his harmless act very well. He’s charmed half the base already and he’s working on the other half. But every now and then the mask slips and Youji realizes that the charm _is_ an act. The other kids don’t talk much and at first he assumed they were shy but gradually he’s realizing it’s because they don’t trust themselves to sound normal.

“Not everything human is bad,” Youji points out, very neutral-like.

“True,” Yellow says, shoveling another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“And you’re in the human world now, kiddo. You’ll have to adapt sooner or late.”

Yellow scowls, indicating what he thinks about _that_ notion.

*

Kishitani Ryohei never expected to have children for patients. That was, in part, why he chose to be a military doctor. He liked working in emergency situations; he kept a calm head under pressure and it was something he was good at. But he didn’t like working on kids. It made him too sad.

“You’re so softhearted,” his wife used to tell him all the time, fondly. Mina had always been the stronger of the two of them; she’d always been in charge of disciplining Naoko, Ryohei would cave at the slightest warble in his daughter’s lips. Mina was always the one who remained dry-eyed during movies, Ryohei was the blubbering mess. And he especially hated it when it involved kids.

He was a wreck for days after they brought in the Teiko children. He’d been in charge of the physical checkups; he’d had to see all their scars and catalogue each one in his notes.

Truthfully, he didn’t want to spend too much time with the children; he was sure his heart couldn’t handle it. He felt like crying every time he saw them, knowing what he did about the scars on their bodies.

But since the higher ups in the military had yet to release an official stance on what should be done with the children, there was no one really regulating what the children did during the day time, provided they remained on the base. Most of them seemed content to stay in the company of the soldiers, but Green had somehow drifted into the hospital ward and Ryohei didn’t have the heart to send him away.

He barely notices Green is there, really. The tall green-haired boy is very unobtrusive; he just quietly sits in a corner reading medical handbooks.

“Are you interested in medicine, Green-kun?” he asks finally.

The boy pushes up his glasses. “Not particularly.” There is such pronounced indifference in his voice that Ryohei can’t help but think the boy is lying.

“Is there something I can help you with, then?” he asks more out of desperation than anything. He’s not entirely sure how to talk to teenage boys, much less _this_ teenage boy (who has a gunshot scar in one leg; a smattering of small cuts across his body reminiscent of knife wounds; he’s by no means the most scarred but it’s still breaks Ryohei’s heart all the same.)

He doesn’t expect the boy to reply but then Green surprises him by tentatively asking, “May I borrow a stethoscope?”

“A stethoscope?” Ryohei repeats. “Why?”

The boy shifts his weight and straightening his back, as if to add extra dignity to his response. “That is today’s lucky item for Cancers.”

“Lucky item,” Ryohei says, not sure he heard that night. “You mean like Oha Asa?”

Green nods once.

Ryohei purses his lips together. “That is not very scientific, Green-kun.”

“Man proposes, God disposes,” Green quotes, and Ryohei wonders who told him _that_ bit of knowledge; the other children hadn’t displayed much awareness about religion. And there’s a dozen things Ryohei wants to say to that—about superstition and cultural brainwashing claptrap and placebo effects—except the boy looks so very _serious_ with his request. There is such gravity there that Ryohei doesn’t know how to argue with that.

So he just silently hands Green his stethoscope and says, “Please bring it back to me tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Green says earnestly.

“You can borrow the book too, if you’d like,” Ryohei offers.

Green doesn’t say anything, but he takes the book with him when he leaves proving Ryohei’s hunch about his feigned indifference was correct.

*

Araki Yumeko’s life philosophy resolved around keeping things simple. She didn’t like to think too hard and she didn’t like people all that much because they usually brought needlessly complicated drama with them out and she didn’t really want to move around all that much, if at all possible.

Getting an analyst job with the JSDF seemed like an odd choice accept it pretty much guaranteed someone was always there to tell her what to do and she could sit in her office all day, not bothered by anyone. It was by far the simplest job she’d ever had and she liked it a lot, most days. The whole thing with the mutant kids added a new level of complexity she resented, but as long as people didn’t try and _talk_ to her about the kids, she was fine. She could go about her job like always.

Her biggest concern at the moment is the fact that someone has been rummaging through her snack stash to the point of depletion. She has eyed her fellow analysts in deep suspicion but they all _know_ better. It must be one of the soldiers, but who would dare? She takes her snacks very seriously. Food is the one thing that can motivate her into action—usually terrible vengeance.  Plus, she strategically hides them up where most people would need a stool to even find them (and she hides her stool very carefully); most people on base aren’t tall enough for the heist.

The only logical conclusion is that it must be bears. But how were the bears sneaking onto the base?

She’s contemplating this when she returns from her break—she’d snuck off base to buy more snacks—and then she finds a ridiculously tall purple-haired boy in her office munching on the last of her maiubo ( _that_ certainly explained the height thing.) “Ah,” she says. “You must be the bear.”

“Eh?” Purple says around a mouthful of food.

This is way too troublesome. Now she has to figure out a way to get this kid out of her office and away from her food. “Don’t eat my food. That’s mine.”

“But it’s tasty.”

“I know. That’s why I kept it. For me.” She wonders if she can get one of the soldiers to take him away. That would be _way_ too much work. She sighs, resigned. “If I give you this, will you leave?” She holds out one of her newly acquired pocky as a sacrifice.

“Ehhh. I don’t wanna. They keep asking question and it’s annoying. And the others want to train with the soldiers and that’s way too bothersome.”

Well. That was certainly something she could relate to.

“Fine,” she says grudgingly. “You can stay here, just don’t talk to me.”

“Tch. Why would I want to talk to you?” He settles down on the floor. She notes that he’s strategically positioned himself by a filing cabinet, so that he wouldn’t be seen by anyone passing by the window. She used to do a similar thing when she was hiding from teachers to avoid gym in high school.

“Can I still have the pocky?” he asks.

“No. You ate my maiubo. This pocky is mine.”

He “tsks” but true to his word, doesn’t bother her again for the rest of the day.

*

It would be unfair to say that Fujimaki Takaya deliberately set a trap but he did purposefully leave his door unlocked and declared very loudly that he was leaving his office for two hours. Then he snuck back in thirty minutes and was very pleased to find that his plan (that wasn’t a _trap_ ) had worked.

“Hello,” he says, keeping his voice light and friendly, “Do you like reading? I must confess it is a favorite pastime of mine as well, although I’m sure you guessed that.”

The boy looks up from his spot on the floor and meets Takaya’s gaze. The boy’s face is completely expressionless, but Takaya recognizes the determination and the calculation in the boy’s light blue eyes. The boy is trying to figure out his next plan of action—fight or flight, so to speak.

Takaya continues, “That’s why I have a library in my office. I like being surrounded by books. I noticed someone had been reading them a few days ago, and I was wondering who it could be. I am pleased to meet a fellow reader, my name is Fujimaki Takaya. I don’t believe I know yours?”

“You may call me Black. Or 452, if you would prefer,” the boy says politely, “I apologize, Fujimaki-san. I thought I had been more careful about putting the books back in the same spot.”

Takaya smiles but doesn’t say anything. The boy _had_ been very careful; Takaya wouldn’t have noticed anything out of place except some of the dust on his shelf had shifted. He doesn’t want to say that because he has a feeling next time the boy will somehow make sure the dust is replaced as well.

“I don’t mind, Black-kun. Like I said, I’m always happy to meet another reader.” He settles in an arm chair near the boy on the floor.

Truthfully, it _is_ worrisome that the boy was able to sneak into his office without anyone noticing. That more than anything else he’s seen these wondrous children do makes him realize that they _are_ dangerous, perhaps even deadly.

But this boy is small, even for a thirteen year old, and pale and very polite. Takaya finds that he’s more curious than alarmed right now; and maybe it’s an old man’s folly, but he wants to see where this goes.

“I’m impressed by your reading choices,” he says casually, looking at the books on the floor nearest to the boy. “ _Frankenstein_ and _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_ are both heavy material for a boy your age. If you don’t mind me asking, are you trying to understand what makes you human?”

The boy is expressionless; Takaya is beginning to realize this is just how he is (and if he hadn’t seen the other children, he would conclude that the boy’s lack of emotions must be a result of being created in a lab. But the other children laugh and shout and act like children; this boy’s silence must be something conditioned in him alone). But expressionless does not mean impossible to read. The boy sat back at Takaya’s question, meaning he was surprised by it, and he shifted into a relaxed position, meaning he no longer felt the need to flee. He found Takaya’s question an interesting one.

“No. I am trying to understand my makers,” Black replies.

Fujimaki hums, musing this out. “Please, continue.”

“One of the first books I ever read was an adaptation of _Pinocchio,_ ” Black says. “I was struck not by the question of what made the puppet human at the end, but Gepetto’s impulse to make a wooden son at the beginning. I found that it is a reoccurring theme in literature; the human impulse to make either humanlike beings. But in almost all these stories, the creations are monsters. The point in Shelley and Dick’s novels seems to suggest that humans can _not_ make other humans. If that is what literature tells us, then why did Teiko try to make humans at all?”

Heavy thought indeed. Takaya mulls this over. “You _are_ overlooking the religious factor, I think.” Takaya sees that he has Black’s attention so he continues, “God made man, according to Christian tenants, so for man to make man it is to try and be like God. Literature tells us that man-made creatures are monstrous because to try and be like God is to commit blasphemy. Modern science fiction has moved away from the trend; Asimov’s robots are nothing like Dick’s for example, Asimov’s robots are often more empathetic than humans.”

Black considers this information. “Then would you say the Teiko scientists were trying to be like God?”

“In a sense,” Takaya says. “But I am sure I could not fully understand their motivations. Have you read Kazuo Ishiguro’s _Never Let Me Go?_ ”

Black shakes his head. “I have it,” Takaya says, getting up to reach the top of the shelf, “Let me get it for you. I would be interested to hear what you think.”

*

“Super speed, huh? That’s pretty cool,” Imayoshi Sayuri says leaning against the front entrance of the base, smirking down at the ground.

“That hurt, you bitch!” the blue haired boy snarls. “Stupid! Ugly cow!”

Sayuri continues to smirk. This kid is adorable. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just happened to set this trip wire up for practice, at this hour in which no one was likely to come through, and you just happened to come running in, and you just happened to fall. How was I supposed to know you’d come running at this hour? How fast can you go, anyway?”

“None of your business, Ugly!” Blue snaps, standing up, his ankles already starting to heal. _That_ was impressive. “How’d you even notice I was gone?”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about, but theoretically, if a super fast kid was running in and out of the base and theoretically, he didn’t want to be noticed when he did that, then theoretically, he really shouldn’t leave at night.”

Blue looks at her with a dumb expression on his face, so she clarifies, “You glow in the dark, kid.”

The boy’s scowl only makes him more adorable, really.

It was pure luck that Sayuri had seen him the first time—she just happened to glance out a window in time to see the blue streak across the dark. She’d seen the other kids activate their powers; she could guess what this was. But it was so bright against the night, moving so fast like that he practically glittered. She was entranced despite herself and kept watching for it in the night. She kept expecting him not to come back one night but he always did.

“You leave to prove you can,” she guesses.

He straightens; his lip curling in disgust. “You can’t keep us here, none of you. If we wanted to leave you couldn’t stop us.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sayuri says smoothly. “So why do you stay?”

“Tch,” he says, and in a flash of blue light that’s even more radiant up close, he’s gone.

“That one’s your favorite, isn’t he?” Sergeant Kasamatsu says from behind her. She’s not surprised Youji was watching; he’s always nearby when you least want him around.

“What makes you say that?” Sayuri asks.

“You always have a soft spot for assholes.”

She laughs because it’s true. “I can’t help it; they’re adorable when they’re mean.”

“You could have hurt him with that trip wire.”

Youji is obnoxiously very much a parent sometimes. “I was fairly certain I wouldn’t.”

He frowns but she saunters away before he can lecture her some more. Youji was wrong on one thing; she didn’t like the blue one best because he was an asshole. When the kids first came to the base, he had watched everyone and she had watched him watch. He had noted which of the young recruits looked at the pink girl the wrong way (she noted that too) he had stood behind the yellow and green kid and glowered. Unlike the others, he didn’t try to pretend to be safe.

The scary little red kid had a way of watching the other children like a king. “These people are mine,” he seemed to say. But Blue made it clear the other kids were his family, and he was going to hurt anyone who hurt his family. She liked that.

And he was a bristly little baby asshole. Sayuri had a fondness for assholes; if she didn’t love them, who would?

*

Sergeant Sakurai Michiru immediately made it her life mission to mother the girl mutant. Her motivations in doing so were both practical and selfish. The women in her family had a long tradition of military service so she knew from experience what it was like to be the lone woman in a crowd of men. And she’d always wanted a daughter (and only succeeded in getting a slightly effeminate son).

She also can’t help but feel a touch sorry for the girl. At thirteen she already looks more mature than she should (and it figures the men at Teiko would design such a beautiful, large-breasted girl. If Michiru was ever left in a room with one of those scientists, she was going to pound their faces so hard their own mothers wouldn’t recognize them); Michiru thinks the girl needs someone to take her under their wing, to prepare her for the real world.

“Other women are going to hate you,” Michiru tells her.

“Really?” Pink asks. “Why?”

“Because you’re gorgeous. Just a fact of life, sorry. But you can use your beauty like a weapon; never let anyone make you feel less because of how you look.”

She is a little disappointed the girl isn’t combat trained like the boys are (which furthers her impression that Teiko was full of sexist assholes) but the girl clearly _is_ smart; probably the smartest of the bunch. She watches as Pink mulls this over. “People don’t have to like me. I like me,” Pink decides.

“Exactly!” Michiru says triumphantly. “When I have a day off, we should go out shopping. I will teach you all about the values of accessorizing.”

“What the hell are you telling her?” Michiru’s niece interjects, appearing in the doorway. “You’re going to turn the girl into a stereotype, Obaa-san.”

“When we’re on base, I’m a Sergeant, not your aunt,” Michiru sniffs. She turns her attention back to Pink. “Don’t listen to Sayuri-chan. She’s barely a B-cup and never learned the value of a push-up bra.”

“Hey!”

“You’re smart, Pink. And you’re pretty. But people are only going to focus on the latter part so you might as well use that to your advantage.”

“Stop telling her things like that!” Sayuri says.

“Oh, so it’s OK to almost kill one with a tripwire but I can’t impart important life lessons?” Michiru asks, arching a brow.

“How did you—”

“I am your Aunt. I know all.”

“You’re friends with Sergeant Kasamatsu.”      

“That too.” She waves this aside and focuses back on Pink.

The girl smiles. “When we go shopping, can we buy some of those shoes that look like knives? I always wanted a pair.”

“You mean high heels? Oh ho, stick with me kid, I can teach you all the ways in which high heels can be better weapons than a Beretta.”

*  
“Theoretically, if I had a name, what kind of name would it be?” Yellow asks.

Youji feels a surge of triumph. He’s been subtly nagging at Yellow for weeks now about the advantages of a name, and this is the first time the boy indicated any openness to the suggestion.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to abandon ‘Yellow’ completely, you know,” Youji says slowly, stroking his chin like he hadn’t been thinking about this ever since he found out they didn’t have names, only numbers. “You could use ‘ki’ in a last name. Like ‘Kise,’ maybe.” He had settled on that in particular because he thought the water imagery fit the boy nicely—Yellow shifted like the current; both in personality and ability.

“Kise,” the boy says, trying it out. He beams. “I like it! What about a first name? I’d want something really cool, you know. Something that would convey how awesome I am.”

“What, like ‘Ryouta?’” Youji jokes.

“That’s perfect!” Yellow says, when he sees it written out. “Kise Ryouta,” he tries it out.

Youji smiles, feeling incredibly pleased with himself.

*

He walks Yellow, now Kise, back to where the other children are, still pleased with his success.

Yellow greets his friends with, “I have a name now! You all have to call me ‘Kise Ryouta’ now!”

Youji isn’t sure what to do with the fact that Pink bursts into tears.

*

“It isn’t fair!” Pink wails, as Black hovers over her and the other children back away slowly. Youji somewhat feels like doing the same—as the father of all boys, he has no idea what to do with a crying girl. “It’s not fair if only Yellow gets a name!”

“Kise!” Yellow corrects. “Kise Ryouta!”

“Not helping, Yellow,” Blue says.

“You can have a name too!” Youji rushes in with, “You should all have a name! Do you have one you like, Pink? You can pick a name.”

“Nooo,” Pink cries harder, “That’s not how it works! You get names from _other_ people!”

“Kasamatsu-san gave me mine!” Kise brags.

“Still not helping, Yellow,” Green says.

“Tell you what,” Youji says quickly, still trying to mitigate the damage, “I’ll talk it over with the other people on base. I’m sure there are others who have suggestions, would you like that?”

“Tch. That sounds stupid,” Blue says.

“How bothersome,” Purple says.

“Yes,” Pink sniffs, “I would like that.”

“Good, then we can definitely make that happen,” Youji says. He takes this opportunity to flee.

*

“Now he wants us to all call him ‘Kise.’ It is such a pointless endeavor; he is ridiculous.”

Ryohei listens to Green complain and feels like he can accurately read through his words well enough now to guess Green was actually very envious that his friend now had a name. Ryohei swallows, wanting to speak but too afraid.

Green came back the next day to return the stethoscope and ask questions about some of the things he read in the book. Ryohei had explained the terminology patiently, and marveled at how well the boy listened and understood.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks Ryohei had set the boy up with various medical-related activities. It started as a joke; one of the nurses had brought in the American board game Operation. It stopped being funny the second Green glowed, raising all the tiny plastic bones out of the plastic body at once, never setting off the game’s buzzing alarm. The game itself was absurd, but Ryohei instantly thought about real life applications. If Green had that level of control over his telekinesis, he could do things most surgeons could only _dream_ about with steady hands.

Green could surgeon-stitch a practice pillow with his mind with the same neat accuracy of a sewing machine. He absorbed facts and retained them and he treated everything with immense gravity unusual in thirteen year old boys.

It was his seriousness that made Ryohei think about his wife and a conversation they’d had right before she got sick.

They were talking about having more kids. “I want a boy this time,” Mina had said. “So we have one of each.”

“You can’t control that,” Ryohei had pointed out.

“Still, it’s something to shoot for. And when we have a boy, we should name him Shintarou.”

He’d laughed. “You can’t name a boy Shintarou, these days. No kid wants to live with such a serious-sounding name. He’d rebel early on and become the class clown; he’d probably turn to drugs and motorcycle gangs later on in life.”

“No he wouldn’t, he’d be a very serious boy and he’d grow up to be a doctor, just like his Papa.”

And when Mina said it, Ryohei believed it, because his wife had the willpower to rival gods. She’d accurately foretold ( _willed_ ) their firstborn to be a girl, so he had no doubt then that they would have a very serious boy named Shintarou who had aspirations of being a doctor.

She was wrong, though. They both were. She got diagnosed shortly after that, and they’d stopped talking about more kids.

But when Green came back to the hospital ward and listened to Ryohei’s explanations of medical terms, Ryohei had thought, _Shintarou._ If ever there was a boy who should be named Shintarou, it is this boy here.

But he couldn’t _quite_ bring himself to casually suggest the name. He did not presume to have the right to name this boy.

“Names are important,” he says awkwardly.

Green looks at him, grave and reproachful.

*

“What the hell is that?” her sister yelps.

Yumeko looks to where Araki Masako is gesturing and blinks slowly. “Mutant kid. They were in the news, Masachin, didn’t you hear?”

“I know that! And stop calling me Masachin, brat! Who would let a kid near _you_?”

Yumeko shrugs. “He comes, eats my snacks, sleeps. Can we have the pizza now? I couldn’t escape for lunch.”

Masako hands her the pizza she brought, her eyebrow still twitching. “What’s his name?”

“Huh? I don’t know. Kid, what’s your name?”

“Don’t have one,” Purple says sulkily, moving towards the pizza box. “989 or Purple works. Did you bring the one with anchovies? I wanted to try that next.”

Yumeko peeks into the box and her shoulders slump. “Masachin, you _didn’t_ bring the anchovies. I told you I wanted that one!”

“It’s disgusting, I refuse to buy that. When I came to visit you for the week I didn’t expect to bring you lunch. You could have just ordered the food yourself and picked it up at the front if it was so important to you.”

“Eh? No way. Then I’d have had to get up. The kid refused to go too. So that left Masachin.” Besides, if her sister was going to visit from Akita, she should have made her lunch from the start.

“They’ll make me play stupid games if they catch me, I refuse,” Purple says, taking a slice of pizza.

Masako looks at both of them in horror. “I’m getting flashbacks to your childhood, Yumeko. What the hell? Did you reproduce without telling me?”

“No way, such a large baby would have killed me. And I don’t want kids. This one eats all my snacks.”

“I still can’t believe they’re letting _you_ take care of a kid.”

“I don’t think they know,” Yumeko drawls. “He just wanders in and out.”

“Oh my God, you are going to accidentally kill him. Kid, you need better role models. And a name.”

“That’s so bothersome, Masachin,” Purple says, matching Yumeko’s own lazy drawl with his own.

“God, are you _sure_ you didn’t breed?” Masako gapes as Yumeko hands Purple another slice. “Also, don’t call me that!”

*

“They say any story boils down to two tropes, someone comes to town, someone leaves their town,” Takaya explains to his young literary enthusiast partner. “If you think about your own story, Black-kun, it is both, depending on the perspective you examine.”

“Is that your way of saying your book recommendations have been coincidental with their themes, Fujimaki-san?” the young boy asks. He had earlier (quietly) accused Takaya of trying to impart a moral with his recommendations, which had prompted Takaya’s defense that all stories were essentially the same. But perhaps he _had_ been a bit obvious when he recommended _Watership Down._

“No, I suppose not. But I believe literature exists so that we can find ourselves. Much of literature comes from one person’s desire to find a place where they belong. You cannot blame me for wondering what you feel about that, Black-kun.”

“It supposes the idea that people _belong_ anywhere,” Black replies thoughtfully. “And what that means. I was created by Teiko for a very specific purpose. Arguably, I belong to Teiko.”

“But I don’t believe belonging can be defined by other people’s expectations for you,” Takaya says. “I believe it is up to the individual to determine where they should be in life.”

“That is different than belonging. Belonging suggests possession, no matter what. I do not wish to believe that a person should be possessed by anything in their life.”

“I suppose I must disagree with you there. I belong with the JSDF and my wife. If I am to be possessed by such things, I do not mind it.”

The boy falls silent as he considers this. Takaya is, as he always has been, impressed with the boy’s insight. He can philosophize at a level very few people even Takaya’s age can do. It is easy to forget he is only thirteen years old.

“By the way, Black-kun, my co-workers think I am insane. It seems they remember me talking to myself in our discussions. I even find it sometimes difficult to recall your face at times. Do you mind me asking, is this your ability?”

“It is a product of it,” the boy replies reluctantly. “I have actually been very impressed with Fujimaki-san’s ability to remember my presence. When I activate my power I can temporarily remove all memory of myself from a person. It makes me very forgettable. I am the weakest of all of us. Fujimaki-san does not need to be concerned.”

“I am not,” Takaya replies, although he privately suspects the boy is underplaying his talents. “It seems to me you are a bit like a magician, Black-kun. I once was something of an amateur magician myself.” He takes out a coin from his wallet and makes it disappear with some long forgotten skill for sleight of hand. The boy tilts his head, indicating that he was intrigued.

“Do you know what _kuroko_ is?” He asks.

The boy shakes his head.

“It is a term for stagehands in theater. Only the hands are actually seen to move things around on stage, the actor is supposed to be invisible. That’s what your ability reminds me of. I have an old book on magician’s tricks here somewhere, if you’re interested?”

“Please,” Black acquiesces.

*

“You’re the one in charge,” Akashi Masaomi says directly when he approaches the small red haired kid. Up close, you wouldn’t think much of him. He’s not tall like the other boys, and he hasn’t demonstrated impressive bursts of power yet. But the others clearly defer to him, and Masaomi has his suspicions on the boy’s ability.

“And you are not supposed to be here,” the boy returns, meeting Masaomi’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes. “I have seen Kasamatsu-san chase you away many times.”

With bicolored eyes and a defiant regal air about him, the kid has more commanding presence than most men three times his age. It’s like being stared at by a cobra and Masaomi loves it—he has a lot of respect for dangerous people; he deplores sheep even as he understands the necessity of followers.

“If you have enough money and power, you can go anywhere you want,” Masaomi replies. “When you’re the most powerful person in the room the desires of everyone else cease to matter.”

“What a coincidence,” the boy says, glowing red, “I completely agree. Please leave the base now.”

Masaomi is a hundred feet out of the base before he even realizes what happened. Instead of anger, he feels a surge of triumph. He was _right_! The kid _definitely_ has the most interesting ability. He vows right then and there to get the kid on his side.

He never doubts for a second he will succeed.

*

“I don’t care what Yellow says, I’m not calling him that,” Blue says, reclining on the lobby couch.

“Yes, you will, and you will find a name for you too,” Pink says. “So, anyway, Michiru-san, please think of a name for me! A really pretty one!”

“I’d be honored,” Sayuri’s aunt says and Sayuri barely manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“I know!” Michiru brightens.

“You can’t name her Sakura,” Sayuri interrupts.

“What? No way! Why not?” her aunt says, dismayed.

“Sakura? Like the flowers? I like it, why can’t I be named that?” Pink asks.

“You can’t name a pink haired girl Sakura. Even without the existence of _Naruto_ you’d be mocked by everyone for the rest of your life,” Sayuri explains, in a desperate attempt to save this girl.

“Oh,” the girl says, her shoulders slumping.

“Momoi would be pretty, for a last name,” Michiru muses.

“Like I said, you can’t name a pink haired girl—” Sayuri begins.

“I like it! Like Kise for Yellow!” Pink says excitedly. “But what about a first name? I want something really pretty and elegant sounding.”

Michiru scrunches her nose in thought; clearly she had been counting on ‘Sakura’ as a name. “How about Satsuki?” she suggests finally, “For ‘May.’ That’s pretty.”

“Momoi Satsuki,” the girl repeats, relishing the sound.

“God, do you have to?” Blue complains. “Names are stupid human things.”

“Oh yes, it is much better to be nameless. Like animals,” Sayuri says slyly at his direction.

“Shut up, Ugly.”

“You have to call me ‘Satsuki’ now, Blue. Or I’ll hate you forever.”

“Tch,” the boy says. What an unhappy bundle of angst and hormones. Sayuri’s middle school years had been like that. (Not her little brother’s though—Shouichi had the audacity to move through middle school with smug condescension and sly manipulations. The dumb assholes were much more adorable.)

*

“That boy looks up to you,” Takao Nobuko tells Ryohei. “You should open up to him a little more.”

“I don’t, no, I wouldn’t presume,” Ryohei sputters, not meeting her eyes. He doesn’t know how to handle the nurse most days; he’s pretty sure she’s laughing at him whenever he talks to her; her grey eyes always sparkle with an inside joke he’s on the outside of experiencing.

“It’s nice talking to him,” Ryohei says, feeling lame.

“He wants you to give him a name,” Nobuko insists.

“No, I’m sure that’s not the case, Takao-san. He very much denied wanting a name, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Nobuko rolls her eyes; the woman has very little respect for her employers. “Teenage boys never _say_ what they want. It’s all about paying attention to what they don’t tell you that you can even figure out what’s going on in their lives.”

“That sounds complicated. I’m glad I only had a girl,” Ryohei says weakly.

“Oh ho, if you think teenage girls will be easier, you’re in for a _big_ surprise.”

*

Yumeko definitely never wants kids of her own. As more and more of her friends and coworkers get married and start having babies, it only furthers her very decided feelings that she never wants babies. Babies are loud and messy and they’re not even really people yet and her friends never take it well when she points out all babies look the same.

Kids aren’t much better; they’re mouthy brats you can’t reason with and they still don’t have basic survival instincts.

Everyone told her, _one day you’ll change your mind_. Like they expected a switch to flip and all of the sudden she would like children and coo over them like everyone else. Her friends kept shoving their own kids at her as if there would be some magic moment when she’d see one and think, _yes, I want one of these._

This had yet to happen. She’s still willing to put good money on the fact that this is never going to happen.

But sometimes, when Purple wanders into her office and they eat snacks together in silence, she looks at Purple and she doesn’t see the children she could have one day, but she sees _herself_ ; the child she had been. It’s this vague familiarity for when she hated adolescence as this nonstop demand for her to do things. When she was young, she had desperately wished to be a _hikikomori_ NEET; just stay at home with her computers and do nothing all day everyday. It was only because of her older sister’s goading that she grudgingly entered society. Purple is a reflection of the girl she had been, and that makes her— _fond_ of him, at the very least. If parenting was simple and consisted solely of sharing snacks with a kid who let her work in silence while he hid from the world, she’d probably reconsider her attitude on parenthood.

A knock on her door interrupts her thoughts and Sergeant Kasamatsu pokes his head in. “Ah,” he says.

Purple retreats to behind the filing cabinet, like a hermit crab pulling itself back into its shell. It’s no good, he’s been spotted.

“Did Kasachin want something?” Yumeko drawls.

“Actually, I was looking for Purple-kun. A couple of the guys want to teach the Miracles how to play basketball.”

“Geh,” comes from the disgruntled corner.

“Does he come here often?” Youji asks, his thick eyebrows furrowing like angry caterpillars. Yumeko has the vague urge to pluck one off to see what would happen.

“I dunno,” she says, looking at her laptop.

“Ah,” Youji says again. He looks at her like he’s expecting her to do something more, but she ignores him.

“Purple-kun?” he calls, when it becomes clear _she’s_ not going to say anything else. “It’ll be fun, I promise. And maybe we could think of a good name for you.”

“He has a name,” Yumeko says.

Youji eyes draw back towards her. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Murasakibara.”

“Murasakibara,” Youji repeats. He strokes his chin. “It’s kind of long.”

Yumeko shrugs. “He’s a long kid. Tall kids should have tall names.”

“And does he have a first name?”

Yumeko doesn’t even think about it. “Atsushi.”

“Hmm,” Youji says. “Well, alright. Murasakibara-kun, do you want to join us for a game of basketball?”

“No way. It’s too bothersome.”

Youji looks back to her. She goes back to ignoring him.

“Maybe some other time, then,” Youji says, after a few seconds tick by in silence.

This doesn’t really deserve a response so she says nothing. Eventually he leaves.

Purple, or the newly dubbed Murasakibara, unfurls from his spot behind the filling cabinet to swipe at a maiubo on her desk. “He’s the persistent type, Murachin,” she warns. “You’re going to end up playing basketball sooner or later.”

“Tch. How bothersome,” Murasakibara says, unwrapping the maiubo. He doesn’t say anything about his new name. She doesn’t either.

*

Youji scratches the back on his head and tries to figure out what just happened there. He knows out of all the Miracles, Purple and Blue were having the hardest time adjusting to people. Imayoshi Sayuri seemed to have decided it was her mission to prod Blue in the right direction with her own particular brand of sadistic love, but most of the people on the base were a little twitchy around Purple, who had a habit of accidentally breaking things (chairs, floors, tanks) when irritated.

Youji’s not sure what it means that the one person’s whose presence Purple tolerated was the one person on base who hated everyone. But then again, maybe the match made a lot of sense. He’s just not sure the antisocial analyst was really the right person to look after a child with such peculiar circumstances.

“—I am sure I could learn how to play a violin, I am just not sure why it would ever be relevant.”

“Which just shows the limits of your thinking, Seijuurou. People always try to feel better about themselves in the face of their superiors by clinging to perceived flaws. If someone can think, ‘Oh, this person is smarter and stronger than me, but they have no passion for the arts,’ then you leave them with an opening. If you are superior in every way in every field, then you don’t leave a single straw for a drowning man to grasp.”

“I see, that does make sense, Masaomi-san. I will begin learning immediately.”

Youji doesn’t mean to overhear the conversation as he passes by, but as soon as he does he immediately stops in his tracks and confronts the two. “What the hell?”

Masaomi and Red looked at him with matched expression of disdain. This is, quite possibly, Youji’s worst nightmare.

“I’m just having a conversation with Seijuurou here,” Masaomi says, gesturing towards.

“ _Seijuurou?_ ” Youji yelps.

“Akashi Seijuurou,” Red replies.

Oh, _hell_ no. “Masa-chan, a word?”

“I was going to find my Generation anyway,” Red replies, leaving.

“He can’t have _your_ name,” Youji exclaims.

“Why not? I thought it was very convenient; if you’re keeping the color theme, it works nicely.”

“And _Seijuurou,_ ” Youji continues. “You can’t name the Absolute Order kid _perfect subjugation._ That’s like naming a Dalmatian ‘Spot.’ Why not just name him Akashi Badass Motherfucker while you’re at it? Or Akashi Sadist? Little Akashi Tyrant?”

“Seijuurou is a perfectly good name,” Masaomi defends, “It’s the name I always wished my parents had named _me._ ”

“Oh, Lord,” Youji says, rubbing his temples. “Masaomi, you can’t have him.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Youji.”

“You gave him _your_ family name! Don’t tell me you’re not trying to adopt him!”

“We—ll, it crossed my mind,” Masaomi says, stroking his chin. “I always thought I’d make a terrible father, you know—”

“—And I have always agreed with that sentiment, stick with that,” Youji interjects.

“—Partly because my expectations would be so high,” Masaomi continues over Youji’s interjections. “If my child couldn’t measure up to my expectations, I’m sure I couldn’t love it.”

“Jesus _Christ,_ Masaomi.”

“But this kid comes pre-conditioned for excellence. He speaks five languages already, possesses a high IQ and superior physical abilities. Not to mention the Ordering ability! Really, it’s everything I always wanted in a son.”

“That’s not how being a father works,” Youji says through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to program a child like you would a computer.”

“Another reason why I’ve always preferred computers to children,” Masaomi says cheerfully.

Youji is three seconds away from punching Masaomi in the face. Masaomi seems to recognize this (a testament to how long they’ve known each other) as his face sobers and he says gravely, “Youji, think about it, would you? Those kids need support from people outside the military if they’re ever going to function in normal society. I have about three politicians on my payroll and two news stations under my authority. You _need_ me to make sure those kids don’t end up locked away in some government facility for the rest of their lives.”

And Youji still wants to hit him. Because mostly, he’s mad at himself. Masaomi is absolutely right; and the first thought Youji has is, _At least he just wants Red._

It makes him sick with his own pettiness. He hates that he’s willing to sacrifice Red so that the others have a chance of normality. (So that _Kise_ has a chance).

“It’s a moot point anyways,” Youji says, still angry at himself and Masaomi, “The higher ups in the SDF haven’t decided what to do with the kids yet. Until they take any official stance on whether or not the children are a threat, it’s not possible for _any_ of the kids to leave this base and have a normal life.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Masaomi waves this aside like the hierarchal bureaucracy of the JSDF was a minor concern to him.

Youji wishes he could be less concerned. It makes him nervous that his commanding officers haven’t said anything yet; he doesn’t know what he would do if they take an unfavorable stance on the children.

*

“They’re all getting names now,” Green grumbles. “Even _Red_ says his name is Akashi Seijuurou. And Purple! I can’t believe _Purple_ —it so unfa— _horrible,_ it’s horrible.”

 _Unfair,_ Ryohei finishes in his mind. And even without Takao Nobuko glaring at him from across the room, Ryohei understands now what Green isn’t saying.

“You know, I always thought ‘Midorima’ would be a good family name for you Green-kun. Since you can move things across such distances. And you’re, well, green.” He cringes, hearing how lame that sounds. Nobuko lifts a brow like she’s saying, _Really? That’s the best you can do?_

But Green isn’t looking at either of them. His whole body is stiff and he’s pointedly looking at the medical books on Ryohei’s shelves, and not anyone.

“That is… not unfitting,” Green says, pushing up his glasses.

Nobuko is making furtive pushing motions at him, to indicate that he should continue, which unsettles him enough that he just blurts out, “Shintarou.”

Green looks at him, more startled by his outburst than anything.

“Shintarou is a good boy’s name, I mean. I like it, for a boy. Midorima Shintarou, it’s nice sounding—don’t you think? You take a person seriously, with a name like that.”

“Midorima Shintarou is an _excellent_ name,” Nobuko interrupts, saving him from further embarrassing babble. “Shintarou-kun—it suits you!”

Green, now Midorima, shifts like a bird ruffling his feathers and says, “I suppose I must have something if everyone else does.”

Ryohei beams, feeling absurdly proud and happy now that the name has been accepted. He even starts to tear up a little, and turns away so Midorima won’t see.

Nobuko notices. But she kindly doesn’t say anything and just surreptitiously hands him a tissue.

*

“Everyone else has a name now, Blue,” Momoi says. “You _have_ to have one!”

“I don’t want one,” Blue replies.

Momoi turns to Sayuri for help.

“Hmm. Aomine,” she pronounces. “He should be Aomine.”

“Hey!” Blue lurches forward from his napping position. “Don’t go giving people names without their permission, Ugly!”

“Daiki,” she says with a relish, thinking about when she first saw him, a glittering radiant blue light streaking across the darkness. “He can be Aomine Daiki.”

“Daiki,” Momoi says, and then she wrinkles her nose. “I like it, but it’s so _hard_ sounding. I want something softer. I’m going to call you Dai-chan!”

“Oi! Don’t you dare!” Blue, now Aomine, threatens.

“Dai-chan is the perfect nickname for him,” Sayuri says with a smirk.

“Are either of you listening to me? I said ‘no!’”

“I think I’m going to give everyone a nickname,” Momoi muses.

*

“In novels, the lack of a name is always linked to lack of identity. Think about Daphne Du Maurier’s _Rebecca,_ for example. The narrator is only known as ‘Mrs. De Winter’ because that is how she is defined—by her marriage, specifically, as her role as the _second_ Mrs. De Winter. She can never be Rebecca, whose name is so important it’s the title of the book,” Takaya says.

“But Haruki Murakami’s protagonists are often unnamed in his earlier novels—sometimes all the characters remain nameless,” Black points out. “Sometimes the fact that characters don’t have names is just an artistic tool. Their identity is not less defined simply because their name is not revealed.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Takaya concedes. “Do you wish to remain unnamed, Black-kun?”

“I do not,” Black says. The boy hesitates, and then ventures, “I was thinking ‘Kuroko’ would be a fitting last name for myself.”

Takaya smiles, oddly touched. “I agree. Did you have something in mind for a first name? Maybe a name from a book that you liked?”

Kuroko shakes his head. “I find it a daunting task to find a single name to claim as my own.”

“I see,” Takaya hums. “If you don’t mind my suggestion, I rather think ‘Tetsuya’ would be a fitting name. For philosophy. I have really enjoyed our conversations.”

“Tetsuya,” Kuroko repeats. He nods his head. “Yes, I like that. Thank you, Fujimaki-san.”

“It was my pleasure.”

*

“I’m sorry, Sir, can you repeat that?” Youji says, dazed.

Colonel Kobayashi huffs. “The JSDF is going to release their official stance on the Miracles soon. We’re going to designate them as non-threatening. We’ll probably let them stay on the base for awhile, but maybe in a couple years they can go to normal high school.”

This is more than Youji ever dared to hope; so much so he can’t even really believe it’s happening. “ _Why?!_ ” he says, forgetting himself. It’s far too lenient; he can’t imagine the government taking such a stance, and he can’t help but wonder if Masaomi or Red had something to do with this.

“The Prime Minister recommended it,” Kobayashi says slowly.

“ _The Prime Minister_?” Youji repeats.

Kobayashi’s eyebrow twitches. “Yes. Don’t you know—” He stands up at attention.

“Ah. Kasamatsu-kun, isn’t it? Just the man I wanted to see. Hello, Kobayashi-kun.”

Youji snaps at attention. “General Fujimaki!” He immediately tenses; his preconditioned response to being in the presence of a _Four Star General._ Generals have a tendency of making Youji feel like he’s five years old and just been caught tracking mud on the floor.

“Kasamatsu-kun, you have children in middle school, correct?” the General asks.

“Er. Yes, only eldest. My other two are still in elementary school,” Youji says, thoroughly confused.

“Do you think he’d be interested in coming to the base to visit the Miracles? Tetsuya-kun and I were talking it over, and we thought if the Miracles met other children their age it might help them adjust to people better.”

“Tetsuya-kun?” Youji questions. The General motions to his side and for the first time Youji notices the small blue-haired boy standing there. “Oh! Hello…. Black-kun, correct?” He keeps forgetting the smallest Miracle.

“It is Kuroko Tetsuya, now,” Black responds.

“Ah, yes, well. I’m sure Yukio would love to come. I know some of the other people on base have kids or siblings around the same age. I’ll ask around.”

“That would be nice,” General Fujimaki says, and he exits the room, with Kuroko trailing after him.

“General Fujimaki is best friends with the Prime Minister,” Kobayashi explains in a strangled voice after they leave. “And apparently, he is very fond of Black. I mean, Kuroko.”

“How did that even happen?! _I_ can barely remember the kid exists!”

“I don’t question who Four Star Generals decide to like, Kasamatsu,” Kobayashi says.

“Fair enough,” Youji says, still dizzy.

*

_Almost Three Years Later_

“No one is going to make you go anywhere you don’t want to, Ryouta,” Youji says. “But I would be honored if you’d like to live with me.”

Kise makes a high pitched whining sound, like a dog. “I could live with Senpai.”

“And me. I’d be there too,” Youji says dryly, although he knows what the real incentive is, so shamelessly he adds, “I don’t have enough bedrooms, though. So you’d probably have to share with Yukio.”

Kise sounds like he’s dying, from the noises that escape his over-stimulated brain. “That’s it, I don’t care what Akashicchi says! This _has_ to happen! Let me go convince the others!” Kise takes off running.

Youji feels pleased with how that turned out. He just needs to get the other kids to agree and then he can make sure they enter society whether they like it or not.

“Please do not misunderstand, Kasamatsu-san, I very much want Kise-kun to vote to live with foster families. But have you thought this through?” Kuroko asks.

Youji flails; he didn’t realize the boy had been watching the exchange. “What do you mean, Tetsuya-kun?” he asks as he tries to compose himself.

“Kasamatsu-san surely realizes that Kise-kun is in love with your son.”

“Oh, yes. Of course I do.”

Kuroko has a very unsettling way of looking at a person and conveying immense amounts of judgment. “It seems that Kasamatsu-san is being very unconcerned about the safety of your son’s virtue.”

“Eh. The kid will be eighteen soon. Besides, I want Ryouta as a son-in-law.”

Kuroko continues to judge him in silence.

*

“You could ensure the others all agree to go to regular high schools,” Masaomi says.

“Of course I can,” Akashi replies, “But why should I?”

“Come, Seijuurou. You can’t tell me you’re happy staying at the SDF base. You’ve gotten everything you’re going to get out of this situation, and it’s time to move on.”

“I do realize this, Masaomi. I am not an idiot. I am only reluctant to put myself in the situation where I would have to live with a foster family.”

Akashi says the last words with a wrinkle in his nose, like he’s just said something incredibly vulgar. Masaomi smiles in triumph. “Yes, that _would be_ awful, wouldn’t it? You’d probably be placed with some well meaning parents who would shower you with affection and who try to get you to talk about your _feelings_ and you’d always have to pretend to care about how their day went or what they think of you.”

Akashi’s face is an amazing snapshot of horror and disdain.

“Or you could live with me. Be my heir,” Masaomi throws the offer out their casually.

He can see the boy calculating the net worth of Akashi Industries in his mind, and the benefits of inheriting the estate.

“I would never demand affection from you, only excellence,” Masaomi says.

“I do see the appeal,” Akashi acknowledges. “But how can I be sure you will not have heirs of your own one day? You are not an old man.”

“Thank you for that. We’ll draw up a contract, of course. You would only inherit if you proved yourself worthiest out of any potential heirs. That would also necessitate standards of expectations and a detailed proviso that ensures you can’t inherit if I die early under suspicious circumstances.”

“I have faith I could make it look like an accident,” Akashi says with a smile.

Masaomi grins. “Don’t underestimate the powers of my lawyers, kid. Look, I don’t want a son anymore than you want a father, but I have faith we could reach a valuable partnership, don’t you?”

“I do,” Akashi acknowledges, “While I have faith I could make money easily enough on my own, it would save me a lot of time if I just had access to yours. Very well. I will live with you and make sure the others all join their own happy families.”

“Great,” Masaomi says, shaking Akashi’s hand. “Then we have an agreement. I’ll buy you a pony to commemorate this date.”

“I want a white one,” Akashi says.

“They’re called grays. And consider it done.” _Youji is going to hate this,_ Masaomi thinks. But he also firmly believes that no one will ever understand this kid the way _he_ does. He’s even fond of him, in a vaguely parental way. Akashi Seijuurou doesn’t want a family; he doesn’t want to pretend he’s human and happy all the time. He doesn’t want to be _normal_. Masaomi had felt the same way, growing up a young genius no one tried to understand.

He’s sure they couldn’t be a _family_ , not in the conventional sense. But who wants to be conventional?

*

“Did you put your application in?” Nobuko ambushes him as soon as he enters the medical ward.

“Yes, yes, I did!” Ryohei shoots back, “I did this morning, now leave me alone you terrible woman.”

“Good,” Nobuko says, satisfied. “Now go talk to Shintarou-kun.”

“But we don’t know if my application will be accepted,” Ryohei says in a way that is definitely _not_ a whine.

“We both know the application is only a formality and that what _really_ matters is getting the children to agree to your guardianship,” Nobuko says, her hands to her hips.

Ryohei grimaces. He _wants_ Midorima to come live with him. He talked it over with his daughter, and Naoko was very excited by the idea. But was it the right thing for Midorima? Who’s to say he’s the _right_ person to raise the boy? “Are you sure _you_ don’t want to take him in, Nobuko-san? Shintarou-kun might be happier living with another boy his own age.”

“Are you kidding me? I have one teenage boy already, I couldn’t handle two! Also, Kazunari would never forgive me. He still holds a grudge from that time we tried to introduce the Miracles to other kids.”

Ryohei winces at the reminder. That _had_ been a disaster.

“But you should enroll Shintarou-kun in Shutoku, if you can! That’s where Kazu-chan is going and maybe they can be friends after all!”

“That would be nice,” Ryohei acknowledges.

“Oooh, he’s coming. Quick, go talk to him!” Nobuko pushes him forward.

“Shintarou-kun!” Ryohei says, off-kilter.

Midorima looks at him warily. “Yes?”

“Would you, that is, I thought it would be nice, only if you want to, of course, if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be—”

“Kishitani-sensei would like you to live with him, Shintarou-kun,” Nobuko says, stepping in, smiling warmly. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Midorima and Ryohei both freeze awkwardness eyeing each other in mutual nervous discomfort.

“I would like that,” Ryohei adds. “It would be nice for Naoko too. It is hard for her to be an only child, I think. I’d always intended to have more kids.”

“If… it wouldn’t be an imposition…” Midorima starts.

“No, no, you’d be doing me a favor, really,” Ryohei insists.

Midorima pushes up his glasses. “Akashi voted for us to move in with human families. I have to find someone, anyway.”

Ryohei smiles, because he has long since come to understand that Midorima is an amazing tsundere, and this probably means he’s happy at the thought.

“Excellent!” Ryohei says, feeling lighter now that Midorima has agreed.

He wishes Mina could have met this boy. She would have loved him to pieces. _Mina, this is our boy, our Shintarou, the son you wanted._ But who’s to say Mina didn’t approve? He still doesn’t much faith in Oha Asa, but he’d like to think his wife was looking out for both of them, when the boy wandered into the medical ward.

*

“But I can’t separate from Dai-chan,” Momoi protests again. “Michitan, you understand, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I do, Sacchan. I actually sort of think the best thing for you is if you _did_ have this chance to distance yourself from the boys. It would give you the chance to figure out who _you_ are,” Michiru says. She’d submitted the application requesting guardianship over Momoi, and she thought getting the girl to agree would be easy, they had an understanding. And they _did_ have an understanding, up until Momoi realized Michiru hadn’t _also_ requested to take in Aomine.

Michiru never did fully understand the whole “mated pair” thing, even after Momoi explained it to her. It only furthered her hatred for Teiko (there was a whole _list_ of things she wanted to do to a Teiko scientist, if she ever got her hands on one.)

“It might be the best thing for me,” Momoi says glumly, “But it would be the absolute worst thing for Dai-chan. If we all left him alone—he wouldn’t be able to handle it. He’d get worse without me there, don’t you see? I can’t leave him alone.”

“Well, I couldn’t take you both in, it wouldn’t be proper,” Michiru says. “Which doesn’t matter in a lab or military base, but matters a whole lot out there in the real world.” She considers this for half a second before settling on the perfect compromise, “We’ll make Sayuri-chan take in Daikkun. The Imayoshis live next door to us. You could both go to Touou.” She sends a mental apology to her son, who had been pretty traumatized by that one time she brought him to base. Ryou and Momoi got along pretty well, but her poor boy was still terrified of Aomine. She’d rather inflict Aomine on her nephew. Shouichi had his sister’s sly way of dealing with the grumpy ones.

“Really? That’d be great! Thanks, Michitan!”

Well, at least Momoi was happy. And _she_ was happy. Ryou, Aomine and the Imayoshi family might have other opinions on the matter, but she could handle that later.

*

“Absolutely not, Ugly. I’m not living with you! You’re not even old enough to my guardian!”

Sayuri smirks. She was going to propose the arrangement even without her aunt’s nagging. Getting her father’s sister on her side really only made it so her dad and Shouichi wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. “I’m older than you, which is all the law requires. But technically, my Dad’s going to be your guardian.”

“I don’t need one,” Aomine snarls. “I’d rather die than go to a stupid human high school and live with a stupid human family.”

“I understand why you’re scared, but really—”

“ _Scared?!”_ Aomine sputters.

“Oh sure,” Sayuri says slyly, “I know you probably couldn’t handle it like the others can, but that’s no reason—”

“Listen up, Ugly. There’s _nothing_ I can’t do,” Aomine says.

“Oh yeah? Because it sounds to me like you don’t think you can handle living in a normal house, going to school. I mean, lots of kids can’t hack it; it’s not surprise if _you_ can’t.”

“The only one who can beat me is me, “Aomine says. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“If you say so,” Sayuri says. And she knows she’s won at that point. The baby assholes are always the easiest to maneuver. She can’t wait to introduce the kid to Shouichi. It’s going to be amazing.

*

“Why can’t I live with you?”

The question surprises her, so much that Yumeko stops working and stares at the kid.

Murasakibara had only grown taller these past years. He couldn’t escape learning how to play basketball, especially after Masako had heard the children were learning how to play and she took it upon herself to volunteer extra coaching sessions.

When Yumeko mentioned the soldiers were accepting applications for guardianship over the Miracles, Masako had put one in, even though she wasn’t directly affiliated with the JSDF. “I’m only doing it so you won’t,” she had told Yumeko, “You let your goldfish die, I can’t trust you with a kid.”

Masako wasn’t being honest, though. She’d said, “He’s my favorite because he’s your favorite,” but that wasn’t true. Masako had the kindest heart out of anyone Yumeko knew; Yumeko knew her sister loved the ones everyone else didn’t. How else could she have loved Yumeko all these years?

“Masachin will take care of you. I wouldn’t,” Yumeko says simply.

“But she’ll make me _do_ things,” Murasakibara whines.

“Almost definitely,” Yumeko agrees. “But you need someone like that. I did. Besides, Masachin’s a really, really good cook. I’ll go over and visit all the time so she can feed us both.”

Murasakibara nods, accepting this. Yumeko wishes she could explain better. _People like you and me, we need people like my sister to love us. I’m giving you my sister, that’s how much I care about you; you’ll get that one day._

She can’t say any of that, of course. It would be too embarrassing and besides, Murasakibara wouldn’t want to hear it, not yet. Yumeko knows herself well enough that she couldn’t help Murasakibara be a better person; she can barely manage being a better person herself most days. Masako can, though.

“You’ll like Akita,” she says instead. “I’ve seen Masachin’s students; they’re all tall like you. Well. Not like you, but still. Tall.”

Murasakibara makes a disgruntled sound but he doesn’t voice any more protests. “She’s a good cook, you said?”

“The best,” she assures.

“Well, OK then.”

*

Takaya looks at the small boy and wishes he could offer him something better.

It isn’t fair, he thinks, that the one Miracle who loved humans the most had the hardest time forming human connections. People couldn’t remember Kuroko easily; even when Takaya reminded them.

And in the three years of knowing him, Kuroko Tetsuya still didn’t seem any happier than when he first escaped Teiko. Takaya suspects the boy carries burdens he has never shared; he suspects the boy still doesn’t know how to share those burdens with others. He’s been alone for so long; even when he’s with the other Miracles, he’s still alone.

“As you know, Tetsuya-kun, my children are full grown with children of their own. But my wife and I really would love it if you come to live with us. We get lonely sometimes,” Takaya says lightly.

“I would not wish to burden Fujimaki-san,” Kuroko murmurs.

“You would not. You _could_ not. People say that you will come and live with me.”

Kuroko doesn’t respond; not right away.

Takaya has come to know this boy very well over the past years; better than he knows his own children sometimes. There are still things in his past that Takaya _doesn’t_ know; and perhaps never will, but he _knows_ this boy nonetheless.

The boy is tired. He has carried the other Miracles for a long time now, pulled them into the real world with him, and he has sacrificed a lot for them. He hasn’t been able to make connections with anyone, not really, and he’s at his limit. He was going to separate from the other Miracles no matter what they agreed.

And this is Takaya’s fear: that Kuroko will one day erase all traces of his existence and disappear. Kuroko is tired, and he is lonely, and he deserves someone who will devote themselves to his happiness. Takaya is afraid that if he can’t get Kuroko to live with him, Kuroko is just going to walk away and no one will ever be able to find him again.

“There’s a new school in my district. It just opened last year. Seirin, I believe it’s called,” Takaya starts casually. “I was reading about it in the paper just the other day. Apparently, their brand new basketball club made it to Finals in InterHigh.”

“Really?” Kuroko says.

“Yes. No one was expecting them to make it that far. When I read about them, I thought about how the only true thing about humanity is that people will always surprise you. There is nothing certain in this life, but the human spirit can do amazing things.”

“That sounds lovely,” Kuroko says, with a wistful air.

“Tetsuya-kun, do you remember our conversation about ‘belonging?’”

Kuroko nods. “I still believe that I do not wish to belong to anyone. I am tired of being _owned_.”

Takaya nods. “I thought as much. And _I_ still believe you will change your mind, one day. People will surprise you; you will surprise yourself. One day, you will find somewhere you belong, and you can leave at once to that place. But until then, would you consider living with me and my wife?”

Kuroko closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. He opens them, his face as impassive as ever. “Alright, Fujimaki-san. I would be honored to live with you.”

“Thank you, I am delighted to hear it.” Takaya smiles. “The other Miracles still might surprise you too, Tetsuya-kun. I think they have many new things to discover with this move. They will be surprised over and over again. This will be good for everyone.”

“If Fujimaki-san believes so,” Kuroko says politely, indicating that he is not convinced.

“I do think so. There are many good things yet to come.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this story!! I am so grateful you're willing to read more stories in this universe. Thanks for bearing with me! I love you all so much, you are the best!!!
> 
> Kudos and comments always brighten my day =D Feel free to find me on tumblr at umisabaku.tumblr.com for very short fic and neverending anime reblogs. =) =)
> 
> Thanks again!


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